Explode
by Celestial Nightmare
Summary: Dexter's life is going perfectly until his past is dragged up by someone lurking in the shadows, forcing Dexter to reveal his true identity. Nothing will ever be the same. Some mild language- mostly from Deb- and graphic violence. Rated: M
1. Moondance

**Moondance**

The purity of the full moon shining in the sky resonates through the cool crisp air of this winter night. It invites me in to its little celestial celebration in the sky, tempting me in to taste the coldness of its alluring champagne, seducing me in to a drunken slumber in which I carry out the dark deeds which make me what I am.

And what am I?

Well ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls; put your hands together for the one- the only- Dexter Morgan.

Dark Defender.

Bay Harbour Butcher.

Hero.

Villain.

Murderer.

Slayer of scum.

I kill those who do not deserve to live amongst the civilised. The thieves, the rapists, those who unnecessarily slaughter the innocent. Many end up under my shining blade, dancing in the moonlight. And then off dance their mutilated bodies into the ocean and through the Gulf Stream.

In this past year or so Dangerous Deranged Dexter has become Devoted Daddy Dexter. I have replaced chainsaws and cellophane with inflatable mallets and plasters. Rather than spending my days in a lab, then spending my evenings chasing down and eliminating criminals, I now spend my day in a lab, then go home to a wife, two stepkids, and- dare I say it- my son. My own flesh and blood. Yep you read it- I, a brutal monster, have now produced offspring, and spend my evenings and weekends with barely any sleep and changing diapers.

But it's time for a night off. My Dark Passenger is restless.

I've ignored the temptation of that magnificent moonlight for too long now.

David Guerrerez. Thirty-nine year old latino disc jockey. Married for two months to an eighteen year old blonde he met in a club. He pimps her out to crackhead low-lifes and sells on the crack he doesn't use himself. He passes it on to teenagers in clubs for ridiculous amounts of money, then uses the money to buy more drugs to pass on for more ridiculous amounts of money, until he has so much cash he can afford to buy his own stash of Class A drugs to use. Or he uses the money for hookers and occasionally uses their services to exact his own violent urges upon.

In the past six months Guerrerez has chopped up seven pitiful prostitutes. I'm not one to judge someone on how they live their life [ahem], but killing those who have done nothing wrong goes against my moral code. And therefore it is time to teach Guerrerez a lesson.

–

And here we are. Alone in a storage container on the shipping docks. My new friend is lying unconscious underneath tight wrappers of cellophane, binding him to the table. The container is shrouded in cellophane, waiting hungrily for spatters of blood launching free from the fleshy chambers of . Outside the moon is chuckling its sadistic laugh. It knows what is coming.

Finally Guerrerez was waking from one nightmare into another, and when he realised where he was, he looked up at me in astounded horror and started screaming.

"Shut up else the cotton wool will stay in your mouth" Guerrerez silenced and his eyes were full of hate. "That's better". And I removed the wool from his mouth.

"What the FUCK are you doing?"

"Alesha Nighguard. Crystal Hernandez. Rayeesha Harbinger. These names mean anything to you?"

"What? No."

"Don't mess with me Guerrerez. You murdered these prostitutes. You sold illegal drugs to teenagers, took their money, hired prostitutes, then cut each of them up. Alesha Nighguard. Kitchen knife. Twenty-five stab wounds to the stomach. Crystal Hernandez. Bludgeoned to death by a table leg. Thirty-two times over the head. Rayeesha Harbinger. Suffocated as your hands clasped round her neck and slowly, cruelly, drew the air from her lungs."

"Don't be stupi..."

"DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO TALK?" I raised my blade to his throat and he kept quiet. "You murdered several innocent lives. Not just these three women; tens of others. Not to mention you're slowly killing many teens with your crack cocaine. Now. Any last words?"

"Let me out of here you crackpot."

"How many times have I heard that one?" And I gently sliced open his right cheek with my blade, skating gracefully as it pierced open his flesh, and a small wave of disgusting blood started seeping out. I caught a droplet on my clear plastic slide, ready to be placed amongst the other slides in my smart wooden box; the only evidence of my previous acts of justice. The moment the blade came into contact with Guerrerez' flesh, I felt his ego deflate, and a cloud of wonderful fear became all too present in his facial expression.

"Look, I can give you anything. What is it you want; money? Women? Drugs? I can get you plenty. Just tell me what you want and let me go."

"Interesting offer. Let me think on it...No." I pulled down my goggles and picked up my chainsaw. Guerrerez started blubbing.

"Please don't do this to me. I don't deserve it."

"Oh please. This manly performance alone deserves my punishment." Guerrerez wailed and started crying out in fear. I took one last look at his pathetic face and started up the chainsaw.

–

Outside the moon smiled with satisfaction.


	2. Barney The Dinosaur

**Barney the Fucking Dinosaur**

**Two years later.**

These past couple of years have been easy for me. I've been able to keep up my charade of Dedicated Domesticated Dexter, helping to raise my son, as well as teaching Astor and Cody the Harry Code when we get time alone. And of course I've kept surrendering to the magnificent moonlight's midnight serenade, my Dark Passenger flexing its wings in delight as my blade elegantly dances.

Everything is fine and dandy in the life of Deceptive Damaged Dexter.

Except it is my birthday today, which means I have to endure hours of friends and family tonight, telling me how amazing I am.

Like I need to be told.

So it strikes me as odd when I walk into work with doughnuts, and don't get phsycially molested by a ravenous Masuka fighting for a strawberry iced beauty with white sprinkles [his current favourite].

Deb walks over to me with a goofy grin on her face.

"Happy Birthday bro."

"I fail to see how people can make such a fuss out of being one year closer to death."

"Stop being so fucking miserable Dex," laughs Deb.

I'm glad I'm so funny.

"Just give me some bloodwork and I'll be happy."

"Jesus Christ you're weird. Well your day's about to get worse. We have no cases today. It's just a paperwork day. Which means you have all day to celebrate being a bearded old man," said Deb, smirking.

Last time I checked I didn't have a beard.

And since when does Miami not have murders? How inconsiderate.

"Where's Masuka?" I asked Deb.

"Off plotting."

"Oh joy. Do I have the pleasure of numerous strippers and countless sex jokes tonight? I thought it was my birthday, not Halloween."

"Haha no. Masuka's giving you a clean party. Rita and the kids are going to be there. The dodgiest you'll get is Barney the fucking Dinosaur."

"I assume this is not a surprise party then?"

"Oh shit." says Deb, realising her mistake. "Just...try to look surprised."

"Anything involving loud noises and crowds of people shocks me anyway. You have no worries."

–

Dutiful Decisive Dexter always completes paperwork to the finest detail weeks before it is due, meaning on days when I could really do with some work, I am left empty. Instead I fulfilled my day by researching my next victims, while Deb was busy poring over piles of disorganised case files. I made the best of a quiet day, as Masuka, Angel, and the rest of the workforce were missing, evidently preparing for my night of Hell.

At the end of the day Deb rushed off home to get read for my party, and when I arrived at Rita's house [even though it's my home too now...] nobody was there. With a couple of hours to spare before my wonderful celebration of becoming old and decrepit, I decided to kill time by slaying my next prey; a gang leader involved in exploiting Mexican immigrants for drug trafficking. I packed my tools and off I set.

–

She watered the plants in her garden while watching him in the reflection of the kitchen window, getting into his car. As he drove off down the road, she threw the watering can across the grass and climbed into the average white Volvo belonging to the now deceased homeowner, and began a slow pursuit of the man. Blood continued to spill out from the watering can all over the white lilies lining the path.

The man didn't notice the tracker as he stalked his prey. He didn't notice the tracker as he injected his prey with a temporary anaesthetic which would last while the predator carried his prey to an abandoned house. He didn't notice the tracker as he set up his usual killing scenario, plastering the room with cellophane and binding his victim to the table. He didn't notice the tracker as he collected his blood trophy and took great satisfaction in slicing apart the pathetic squirming slimeball bound to the table with a chainsaw, before placing the mutilated body parts into a standard black bin liner. He didn't notice the tracker as he wiped the room of any trace of his presence, nor when he placed the bin liner in the trunk of his car and drove to the quay where his boat lived, eagerly waiting to transport the predator to that spot where he deposited his prey. He didn't notice the tracker videotape the whole scene, and he didn't hear as the tracker crept up behind him just as he was about to step onto the boat with the remains of Oscar Gomez. He only noticed the tracker when she injected the anaesthetic into his neck.


	3. Smile, Say Drill

**Smile, Say Drill**

My Dark Passenger is screaming, trying to wake me up. It senses trouble. I open my eyes to see I am lying down in what looks like a very large storage container, covered in sheets of cellohane. I try to get up, but can't. I am strapped to a table, no; binded. By cellophane.

A figure [male or female?] wearing a mask walks to my right side and cuts open my cheek. I feel the warm prickle of blood pouring out of the wound, and I feel the cold touch of the pipette as it clutches a droplet of blood. I look up to see the figure squeeze the blood onto a slide.The figure is shuffling with something; trash bags? I hear that rustling of trash bags which I've all too frequently heard. Lights come on, and above me I see trash bags suspended form the ceiling.

The table starts to rise until it is vertical, and I feel my blood flood the lower parts of my body now I am upright. The cellophane is binding me so tightly I'm not even tipping away from the table slightly. Now I can see a better view of my surroundings. The storage container is larger than I thought. The trash bags continue for a long way. There are gas canisters at the end of the room. But that's not al I see.

Opposite me, bound to vertical tables like I am, are Deb, Chutsky, Angel, Masuka, and most disgusting of all; Rita, Astor, and Cody. Each one of them desperately trying to get free but failing. Each one of them with eyes wide with fear. Each one of them producing screams, muffled by the duct tape across their mouth. Each one of them with a cut down their right cheek.

Chutsky is squirming the most, and does not listen when the figure tells him to shut up and stop fidgeting. A woman. It is a woman's voice.

She sounds frustrated so picks up a nearby power drill and drills several holes in Chutsky's torso. Deb has tears streaming down her cheeks and is using all her strength to break free and stop the creative maniac. It doesn't take much imagination to guess the muffled sounds coming from Deb's duct taped mouth are in fact every curse word in Deb's mental dictionary.

I hear crying and see my son, Harry, staring as all this happens. He isn't strapped down, after all, what threat does a three year-old pose?

When the woman steps away from Chutsky, I see she has drilled a dot-to-dot style smiley face in Chutsky's torso, blood seeping from each hole. She has done it in such a way that it it has not gone into a major organ or has gone deep enough to kill Chutsky. Instead he is very slowly bleeding to death, his body being painted a deep crimson colour. Chutsky is quietly whimpering, and Deb becomes silent and motionless when the woman threatens her with a dose of liquid nitrogen.

I admire this woman's creativity, although I'd rather it if she did not use it to torture my friends and family. And Chutsky. Well, maybe Chutsky. Despite being emotionally detached from the rest of humanity, I've come to feel some level of affection for this odd group of people.

The woman walks over to me and pulls the duct tape off my mouth. She takes her mask off and her facial expression is one full of absolute hatred.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask her.

I could almost feel the venom from her voice poisoning me as she said coldly and simply...

"To avenge Brian Moser."


	4. Revelation

**Revelation**

I need to puke.

"Who are you?" I ask her.

"I am Brian's widow. I grew up with him in that institution Dex. He showed no emotion towards other people. He used them, deceived them with fake charm. But Brian and me...we were best friends. He was wonderful. He showed emotion to me, he spoke to me, he was everything to me."

"He was using you. Just like he used everyone else. To get to me."

"How can someone use you if they have nothing to gain from you?" She has a point.

"We had nothing to gain from each other. Yet we found ourselves becoming friends and eventually even falling in love. Fifteen years, and we saw each other every single day. When we were released from the institution, we got married almost straight away and spent a few years doing everything we had always wanted to do. I always knew Brian would have a dark side. You and he were left in inches of blood, including your mother's, for days in a storage container, after you had seen her be hacked to pieces with a chainsaw. It's enough to screw with anyone's mind. Brian started to kill and I helped him. I convinced him to kill criminals and he did. Throughout that time we were trying to find you, and when we did..." she trails off.

Her breathing is staggered as she tries not to cry. She soon starts talking again, with tears streaming down her face.

"He was excited to meet you. That was normal. But when we found out what you were like, that you are devoid of human emotion towards others, your life is a lie, you're a misfit, and that you're a murderer...You carry the charade of being a loving family man. You use your job to help you find your victims and you kill off the bad guys like a vigilante hero. You chop them up and throw them in the ocean in bin liners." Deb makes a noise. The woman turns to her.

"You deserve a say I think Deb." she says, and pulls the duct tape off Deb's mouth.

Deb looks stunned.

"You're the fucking Bay Harbour Butcher. You fucking framed Doakes." I can't speak. I nod. "Jesus fucking Christ Dex." and Deb starts bawling. "Did Dad know about you?"

What can I do? I might as well tell the truth. Otherwise this woman is only going to tell Deb herself.

"Harry knew all about me. I have an urge to kill. It's in me. I can't deny it. I've tried but it doesn't go away. So Harry taught me a code; kill criminals. Kill the lowest of the low- the ones whose crimes have been proved."

The woman is smirking.

"And have you told Debra _why _Harry took you in when you were found in the storage container?"

"He was screwing my mother."

Deb starts crying more.

"She was one of his informants. He used her as bait in an operation and it all went wrong. My brother and I saw our Mom be murdered in front of us with a chainsaw. We were left in inches of blood for days before Harry found us. But Harry only took me, and Brian was thrown in an institution." I tell her.

Now Biney's come back into the story the woman stops enjoying herself.

"And have you told Debra how she knows Brian?"

I can't do that. And the woman sees it in my eyes.

"When Brian found out about Dexter's true identity, he cracked. It was all too wonderful for him. He spent ages developing this elaborate plot to get to Dexter. He wasn't Brian anymore. His plot involved killing innocent people. He was killing prostitutes. He was leaving them in places signficant to Dex, and he was leaving clues each time, that only Dexter would understand. And then in the grand finale of his plan, he decided to include the closest person to Dexter." the woman looks at Deb.

Deb looks sick.

"Me." she says.

The woman starts again.

"Yes. You. He was luring you in so as he could lay you out to kill in the grand finale. So Dexter would kill you and join Brian in murdering anyone they felt like. In that final year Brian became a deranged monster, he still loved me but he was sick. He was intent on going through with this plan. The day he proposed to you Deb; he'd spent the morning and afternoon with me. It was just like old times. He was sane. How he was before all of this started. I had my Biney. I knew it would be the last time I would see him. And it was a perfect day. And then he came for you. And then Dexter did what Brian had never thought he would do- he refused to kill you Deb. Instead he killed Brian and made it look like a suicide."

Deb is looking at me. The disappointment and sorrow in her face is horrible.

"Rudy. No, Brian. He was the _Ice Truck Killer_. Dex, the _Ice Truck Killer_ was your _brother_?"

"Yes." except it sounds more like a squeak, because I'm crying. _Me_? _Crying_? How typically human.

Everyone is silent for a moment. Taking everything in.

The woman pulls the tape off the mouths of everyone else.

"If you knew Dexter was going to kill Brian, why didn't you stop him?" asked Angel. He looks pretty choked up himself.

The woman weeps.

"Because he was lost. Brian had cracked and I don't think he could have ever been truly sorted out. Even if he had lived, he would have been thrown in jail. Maybe given the death penalty. I didn't want him to have that. If he was to die, the only person who I felt had the right to kill him was Dexter." she's starting to get hysterical.

"Then why are we here?" asks Masuka.

"Because I can't bear the pain of knowing I let him die any longer. It was the best thing for him, but I still can't forgive myself. I want you to feel how painful it all is Dexter. To have those you care about in pain right before you, and you can't do anything about it. To see the hurt in their faces, which I could see on Brian's face everyday, but neither of us were able to help him. No-one was. Dex I want you to feel that."

"I feel it." I say. And I do. I _feel. _And it feels _horrible._

"What can I do to make it up to you?" I ask the woman.

She smiles softly.

"You've taken care of the Dark Passengers Dex." and she looks at Astor and Cody. "You've passed on the code. Without it terrible things can happen. People can become like Brian."

Cody looks upwards and says...

"What's in the bags?"

"Body parts." she answers. "The remains of everyone Dexter has killed."

"Cool." he says simply.

She walks over to Cody and releases him from the cellophane binding. The she does the same to Astor. She gives them a videotape.

"This has everything you need. You've already had some lessons. And this video contains the last lessons you will need," she says.

"But we don't know how to cover our tracks properly," Astor pipes up.

"The tape shows you," she smiles. "Now Dexter, tell these children something meaningful."

I'm guessing this is all I get.

"Kids, don't get caught." I say, and the woman cuts my arms free so I can hold the kids one last time.

She releases Rita's arms too. Rita hasn't stopped looking at me since I got here. Her expression was horror, but now it's acceptance. She embraces Astor and Cody and says...

"I love you. Take care of your brother".

The woman releases Angel too.

"You deserve the release most of all out of the others." she says. She gives him Harry, and holds Angel and the kids at liquid-nitrogen point [gun point would make it easy for Angel to intercept. Plus liquid nitrogen is more fun]. Angel looks at us all sadly, but the kids seem oblivious to the fact their life is about to change. The woman guides them out of the storage container and watches as they walk away, my son looking over Angel's shoulder the whole time, just staring into space.

The woman turns to me and says...

"Thankyou Dexter."

"For what?" I ask.

"For being you." she says.

Then she releases gas from the canisters at the end of the room, lights a match, and blows the place up.


	5. Take You Under My Wing

**Take You Under My Wing**

Harry Morgan sits amongst burning debris of the storage container, and the charred bodies of his aunt, uncle, mother, and father; as well as the remains of someone called Masuka and all the body parts from the many bin liners that were hanging from the ceiling in the storage container.

He is too stunned for tears, but is comforted when a black shadow comes to him and enfolds him in its large feathery wings.

The kind detective man called Angel picks up Harry and takes him away from the horror scene, along with Astor and Cody. Angel notices the Dark Passenger with Harry, as he sees it with Astor and Cody.

Angel knows.

It will never let go.


End file.
